


The Math of Love Triangles

by dollsome



Category: Gilmore Girls
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-14
Updated: 2019-09-14
Packaged: 2020-10-18 16:56:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20642546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dollsome/pseuds/dollsome
Summary: A sleep-deprived Paris shows up in Stars Hollow to study. Rory deals with it as best she can (and has more Paris-induced feelings than she probably should). Set during season two.





	The Math of Love Triangles

**Author's Note:**

> Written in response to powerlesbianparisgeller's prompt over on Tumblr: Rory/Paris + “How long has it been since you’ve slept?”. :)
> 
> Set in season two (aka PEAK WARM ‘N FUZZY GILMORE TIMES) between “Run Away, Little Boy” and “The Bracebridge Dinner.” The perfect time for Rory to start channeling her confused-Paris-crush energy in a confused-Jess-crush direction, mwahaha.
> 
> p.s. I apologize for having Brad show up only to say a meme that wasn't even a flicker of a distant dream in the year 2002, but also, no I don't. I stand by it!!
> 
> p.p.s. I apologize for not being able to come up with a better title; my brain is very fried from so much fic-writing this week and titles are always the first thing to go. Therefore: thanks for the title, Crazy Ex-Girlfriend! I don't know if it even really applies here, but who among us cares about a thing like that?

**** “How long has it been since you’ve slept?” Rory asks.

Paris is sitting at the coffee table in the Gilmore living room, staring down at her math textbook like it’s murdered her whole family. Well, to be fair, she’s probably more upset about the math than she would be about the murder, based on what Rory has gleaned about Paris’s family.

The last math test before winter break is supposed to be brutal. Rory’s not sure if it can possibly be more brutal than Paris randomly showing up at her house at ten in the morning on a Saturday and demanding that they study, though. Sure, Paris showing up in Stars Hollow is becoming sort of an established thing after the midnight-Puffs-kidnapping and rehearsing Romeo and Juliet in Miss Patty’s dance studio, but that doesn’t mean Rory has to accept it. Especially when she’s still in her pajamas.

She isn’t anymore; she hurried into her room to change after Paris, still in the doorway, looked her up and down like she was some kind of deranged hobo. But the judgy energy persists even now that Rory’s in a sweater and jeans.

Mom promised she’d bring back coffee and baked goods from Luke’s to alleviate the pain, but she’s been gone a suspiciously long time. Maybe she lives in the diner now. Rory can’t blame her for that self-preservation tactic. Then again, Mom might be even more freaked out by Jess than Paris.

Rory definitely doesn’t share that stance. For one thing, she’s pretty sure Jess doesn’t have a terrifying vendetta against sleeping.

“I’ll sleep when I’m dead,” Paris replies, not looking up from her book.

“I kinda doubt that.”

“Wow, Rory. You’re hilarious. Has anyone ever told you how hilarious you are?”

“It’s pretty hilarious that I’m here studying with you when I could be outside enjoying the first snow day of the year. It’s a pretty big deal in Stars Hollow.”

“What has snow ever done for your GPA?”

“I’ll have you know that I wrote a poem about snow in second grade that earned me three gold star stickers. My mom’s got it in a scrapbook somewhere if you want to see it.”

“If you put a scrapbook in front of my face right now, I’ll kill you.”

Her usual Paris Geller vitriol levels sound a little weak. Rory examines her again. Everything about her looks wilted and miserable.

“How long did you sleep last night?” Rory persists, a little more gentle.

“Two and a half hours,” Paris says. “Total waste of time.”

It’s no wonder she’s sulking around like a less-fun Grendel.

“You know,” Rory says, struck by a brilliant idea, “studies say a fifteen-minute power nap can do wonders for your brain.”

“So can studying.”

“We’ve got a pretty amazing collection of comfy blankets. You could lie down on the couch and take a quick little nap. I’ll go find my mom and grab the coffee and pastries she was supposed to bring us and be back before you’re even up.”

Paris looks tempted. Rory can’t blame her. The dark circles around those eyes are seriously grim.

“It’s only fifteen minutes,” Rory presses lightly.

“No,” Paris counters, stubbornness rearing its ugly head, “it’s fifteen minutes that I could be studying in.”

“I got a ninety-five on the last math test,” Rory says, changing tactics, “and I’m a firm believer that the power nap was my secret to success.” And then, giving into the dark side, she adds innocently, “What did you get again?”

A ninety-two. Rory remembers the way Paris seemed to shrink into herself when class ended and everybody poured into the halls, even though there were only three A’s in the entire class and hers was the second-highest.

Only a jerk would remind her of feeling bad over something so not-bad.

“An A,” Rory answers herself, pivoting. “Which means you’re great at math and you’ve got this, Paris. So cut yourself a little slack and take fifteen minutes to recharge. I promise, you’ll feel better afterwards.”

Paris stares at her for a long time. Rory can’t quite tell what’s going on in her head, which is unsettling when it’s someone who’s just started to wander from nemesis territory into what might be the friendship zone. Anything could happen.

But then:

“Fine,” Paris spits out.

“Oh, good,” Rory says, relieved. She goes to the hall closet and considers their blanket collection. Her eyes land on the super soft cashmere throw that Grandma got them for Christmas a few years back. It’s the big favorite. Lorelai routinely threatens to drop Rory off at the nearest orphanage if Rory ever lets it slip to Emily how beloved that blanket is. The idea of bestowing that blanket upon anyone not named Lorelai Gilmore is pretty much blasphemy in this house.

_Worth it,_ Rory decides and grabs the blanket.

When she turns back to the living room, she sees a blonde head resting on the arm of the couch already.

Rory stays quiet as she crosses back to the couch. Not only is Paris lying down: her eyes are already closed.

_ Aw, _ Rory thinks.

She’s not sure if Paris is really asleep yet. Is it even humanly possible to fall asleep that fast? Then again, if anyone is in the position to pass out immediately the second that sleep presents itself, it’s poor Paris.

She very carefully places the blanket over Paris’s body, hoping against hope that Paris isn’t awake to witness it.

“Night night,” Rory whispers.

Paris doesn’t say anything. Just snoozes away.

Now that she’s got a temporary reprieve from Paris duty, Rory puts on her coat and gets ready to go find Lorelai (and, more importantly, coffee).

She opens the door to discover Dean coming up the snowy driveway, bundled up in the winter jacket she hasn’t seen since last year and carrying a Luke’s bag and a tray with two coffees on it.

Rory closes the door behind her, then steps out onto the porch. “Hi!”

“Your knight in shining armor’s here,” Dean says, grinning at her. “I ran into your mom and she told me to bring these to you. I think she was a little too hopped up on the first snow day to come back inside yet.”

“That definitely checks out.”

“How’s the dragon? Your mom's words, not mine.”

“Oh, you know.” Rory shrugs. “Fiery. Lethal. Kinda cute when asleep, though.”

“Huh,” says Dean.

That was weird to say, Rory decides too late. Cute? Who calls their academic rival cute? Not Anne Shirley (the only person she can think of who has an academic rival), that’s for sure.

Okay, yes, she married him eventually, but Paris is definitely no Gilbert Blythe.

Dean’s the Gilbert Blythe. 

But, you know, less into school.

Which is fine. Different interests. Yay!

Dean doesn’t seem to think it’s a weird thing to say -- his  _ Huh  _ was definitely in the affectionately amused realm of  _ Huh _ s,  and he moves right along. “Coffee and donut break out here while she's ... sleeping at your house?”

"Fifteen minute power napping," Rory explains. She  hesitates at his proposition. “I promised Paris my mom was bringing it for both of us.”

“How about,” Dean suggests, “we share and you save a coffee and a donut for Paris?”

“Deal,” Rory says, smiling. “I’ll put these inside so they don’t get cold, and then it’s a date.”

She dips back into the house and leaves the bag and the cup on the coffeetable.

Paris is still asleep, her breathing the only soft sound in a house that’s usually so alive with noise.

It’s not a bad kind of quiet, though. Not the oppressive kind that her mom always shudders at when she talks about growing up Gilmore. This quiet, combined with the view of the white wonderland outside the windows, is kind of … nice. Serene. The sort of quiet you could stay in, curl up and read a book in, and feel right at home waiting for the one with you to wake up.

Then she remembers Dean and darts back outside.

They settle down onto the front steps after Dean’s swept the snow from them. He tears the donut in half, chivalrously giving Rory the bigger side.

“You’re a really good person, you know,” he says. “Some might say freakishly good.”

“Oh yeah?” Rory nibbles the donut. Donuts, snow, coffee, boyfriend. This is the life.

For fifteen minutes, anyway. Then she really should get back to studying.

“Who else,” Dean says, “is gonna give up their Saturday to study math with someone who drives them crazy and didn’t even call before she showed up?”

“I’m sure Mother Teresa would have given it a try.”

“I don’t know, I think this would’ve crossed a line even for her.”

“There’s the sick, and then there’s Paris,” Rory acknowledges. “Whole different ballpark.”

Dean leans closer to her, his eyes warm and fond. “Have I mentioned how lucky I am to have such a saint for a girlfriend?”

“Not in this conversation,” Rory replies teasingly as he puts an arm around her shoulders. “I mean, it’s been strongly implied, but not actually said--”

He cuts her off with a kiss that tastes like coffee and sugar.

It’s hard to imagine a more perfect Saturday.

Or at least a more perfect study break.

+

When she goes back inside, maybe a little later than she should have, she expects a barrage of Paris zingers about the general nauseating stupidity of smooching your boyfriend in the snow when there are math tests to pass, but she’s greeted by silence.

Paris is still asleep on the couch. She’s rolled over onto her side since Rory last saw her, and she’s got the blanket pulled up to her chin. It’s pretty heart-melting. Cute dragon strikes back.

“Hey,” Rory says softly. "Paris."

Paris groans a little, but doesn’t wake.

Rory taps her shoulder as lightly as humanly possible. “Paris. Wake up, okay?”

Paris’s eyes slowly flutter open. She looks up at Rory. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Rory says, smiling without meaning to.

For a second, Paris just looks at her. Maybe even smiles back a little.

Then: “How long has it been?”

Rory shrugs. “I didn’t time it exactly--”

“You didn’t  _ time it _ ?”

“Definitely not longer than thirty minutes, though--”

“THIRTY MINUTES??” Paris jumps off the couch like she’s been electrocuted. She flings the Don’t Ever Tell Grandma cashmere blanket across the room. “Great. Thanks, Gilmore.”

“Gee, sorry for letting you nap on my couch when you’re clearly teetering on the brink of sleep deprivation-induced insanity!  _ And  _ letting you use the best blanket in our entire house!”

“I don’t want your pity blanket!” Paris hollers.

Rory glares at her and crosses the room to pick it up. She folds its neatly and carries it back to the closet where she should have left it in the first place.

_ Sorry, blanket, _ she thinks before she tucks it back on the shelf and closes the closet door.

When she goes back into the living room, Paris is eyeing the Luke’s bag and cup of coffee.

“Is that for me?” she asks in a much smaller voice.

“Yes,” Rory huffs.

Paris crosses her arms. Blows a strand of hair out of her face. Then, finally: “... Thanks.”

Rory mimics her stance. “You’re welcome.” 

“Sorry I yelled. I tend to wake up ready to fight.”

“That does not surprise me. I’m gonna go make some popcorn. When I come back, we’ll get back to work, okay?”

“Okay,” Paris says, apparently chastened.

When Rory comes back -- bowl of fresh microwave popcorn in hand, sanity slightly replenished from five minutes of alone time -- Paris starts talking right away.

To the surface of the coffeetable, but still.

“Thanks for letting me study here. Nanny’s got this weekend off, and my parents are in one of their ‘let’s try to make this thing work’ phases, which means they scream at each other pretty much twenty four-seven. Not exactly conducive to me passing school, or even sleeping at night, but God forbid they remember they have a daughter.”

Rory’s heart flops sympathetically. “Well, you can study here any time.”

Paris’s eyes light up as she looks at Rory. “Any time?”

“Um,” Rory amends, “within reason, that is.”

“So two in the morning on the Wednesday before a test is …”

“Not within reason.”

“Right,” Paris mutters. “Well. Thanks.”

“Sure,” Rory says awkwardly.

“Back to studying?” Paris asks, seeming heartened. Restored to her usual go-getter self.

“Back to studying.”

They settle down side by side at the coffeetable, flipping through notes and occasionally crunching on popcorn in silence that might even be companionable.

When Paris nears the end of her donut, which she’s broken into careful pieces on the napkin instead of just eating it like a normal person, she hands Rory the last chunk.

“You can have this if you want. I know you love sugar a freakish amount. It always makes me break out. Knowing my witch-in-a-Disney-movie skin, I’ve probably gotten three new zits since I started eating it.”

Rory considers Paris’s face. Of course no new zits have sprouted; her skin looks normal. Nice. There’s a faint glint of something on her lips. Glazed sugar from the donut, Rory realizes.

“Thanks,” Rory says and shoves the donut ungracefully into her mouth. Through a mouthful of sweet dough and a stomach full of weird fluttering, she says, “Study time! Let’s go!”

+

“This settles it,” groans Louise as students spill out of math class on the day that their tests are returned. “I am so coasting on my looks once I’m out of this place.”

“At least you got a B,” moans Madeline.

“An 80 is so the C of the B family,” Louise says, unrelenting.

“You guys got B’s and C’s?” Brad croaks miserably.

Rory feels extra glad that she tucked her math test into her backpack right away before anyone else could spot it. And, well, she feels extra glad in general.

“Score?” Paris asks quietly as she comes up next to her in the hallway.

“Ninety-seven,” Rory reports, grinning.

“Not too shabby.” Paris gives her one of those I-grudgingly-respect-you nods that should look ridiculous on a teenage girl.

“You?” Rory knows she’s dying to tell.

An irrepressible smile darts across Paris’s face. “Ninety-eight.”

“Paris, that’s amazing!” 

“I think it was thanks to the blanket.”

“Good. This way I can tell my mom it was worth it to share with someone outside the family. Ninety-eight: that’s not just an A, that’s an A+!”

“The lowest possible A+.”

“You really need to learn to take a win, buddy.”

“Oh, fine. I suppose it  _ is  _ pretty kickass.”

“It’s  _ very _ kickass.” Rory lifts her hand at Paris, then pauses. “Do we high-five?”

“Idiots high-five.”

“That’s true.”

"It's very Bill and Ted."

"I can't fight you there."

“But I guess I’ll allow it this once,” Paris relents.

They slap their palms together, and Rory’s full of strange relief that it isn’t one of those dud high fives where you slightly miss the other person’s hand. It’s always the worst when that happens.

This high five works, though. In fact, their palms stay pressed together for a moment after it’s over, fingers curving slightly toward each other’s--

“Well, uh, good job,” Rory says, flushed as she pulls away. “I have to--”

“Locker,” Paris says, pointing vaguely behind her.

“Bathroom,” Rory answers.

“See you.”

“See you.”

Paris turns, her blonde ponytail dancing, and speeds down the hallway in the opposite direction. She actually darts around people instead of waiting for them to move.

Rory’s steps feel extra light as she makes her way to the bathroom. Never mind that she doesn’t actually have to go. Washing your hands as often as possible is an essential part of staying healthy during the winter season, thank you very much. It totally merits a totally necessary trip to where the sinks live.

She smiles slightly at herself in the mirror as she washes her hands. There’s just no beating that A-on-a-math-test high.


End file.
